A Whimsical Notion of Suits
by JaneRani
Summary: Suit. The one word that sends Ariadne tumbling down a hole of whimsical notions and hope.
1. Five Months

Ariadne sat in silence on her bed, cross-legged, books surrounding her. She nibbled her lip thoughtfully, pausing to grab her essay, reading it again. The brunette looked up at her window and sighed softly, the sound echoing around the room. Dragging herself to the edge of her bed, Ariadne slipped out, letting her sock clad feet gently touch the floor. Walking silently, the young woman passed by her vanity, catching a glimpse of her reflection, making her stop and lean in slightly to the mirror. She let her finger graze her cheek, glad that she was finally sleeping again. The bags under her eyes hadn't been helping her; they were a constant reminder of the Inception, always there, the thoughts suddenly growing when she got a peek of them.

Leaning back, Ariadne walked away, into the kitchenette, where she reached for her favorite mug, pouring some milk in it. She drank slowly, her eyes suddenly landing on the bishop that rested on her counter. She leaned forward and tipped it with the slight push of her pinky, satisfied when she heard the comforting "thunk" of it. Ariadne sat on her sofa, thoughts straying to the Fischer job. She clenched her teeth, already feeling the guilt she always received when she thought about it.

Sometimes she wondered how Robert Fischer was, if his personality had changed. Of course, she had scanned the news for any news on him and his company, relieved when she heard that he had disbanded, just like Saito wanted. But she never heard about him, just Robert Fischer as a man, not Robert Fischer the business man in a suit.

_Suit._

Ariadne immediately felt her cheeks flush, heat creeping up her neck. Suits. One simple word that could cause such a reaction. Reprimanding herself, Ariadne shook her head, slightly mortified that she was still dwelling on the kiss. Him. Arthur.

She rubbed her forehead, remembering the kiss. The simple kiss that had thrown her down into a bowl of girlish dreams.

Ariadne closed her eyes, remembering the impeccable Point Man, so perfect, immaculate. She remembered when they first met, how she silently told herself that the Point Man had to be the most dreadfully boring person she had ever met. Oh how her thoughts had changed. When she felt his lips on hers, she felt as if she had tried on her favorite scarf: safe and comforted. She remembered how she soon forgot about the quick kiss, suddenly remembering when she had arrived at her hotel in Los Angeles after the Inception. How she suddenly had the longing for more kisses.

Ariadne closed her eyes, imagining the Point Man perfectly. Those dark, glassy orbs that were his eyes, the perfectly styled hair, slicked back with just the right amount of gel, the tall, lean body.

Why couldn't she forget him? There was no reason in bringing her hopes up, because she was never going to see him again, or anyone from the team, for that matter. That much had been clear from the job. She'd been slightly clueless throughout the entire experience, but if she knew one thing, it was that there was to be no contact. Not for two months. After the two months, perhaps, but she knew it was wiser not to, because the slightest show of alliance could bring the wrath of some damned company who somehow had been connected to the Fischer job.

The two months had long since ended, which was just another to not get her hopes up. It had already been _five_ months, so if no contact had been done at this point, she was positive she would never hear from the four men ever again.

The thought that ached the most was that Arthur would never like her in the way she did. She was an Architect for heaven's sake! He was the Point Man, calm, cool and aloof, perfect. She was an Architect, creative, imaginative, and impulsive.

She could just see Arthur sitting at some expensive restaurant, where a napkin would cost more than a month's rent of her tiny apartment. In front of him would be a tall, elengantly dressed woman, hair up in a tight chignon, champagne flute in her fingers, balanced and precise. A sleek, shiny dress would be on the woman, showing enough to keep a man alert and interested. Her voice would probably sound like ringing bells, sweet and melodious to match the personality.

But Ariadne? She was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt, old and raggedy. Comfortable shorts covered just enough, exposing the rest of her legs.

No. Arthur would never be interested. The only reason he had kissed her was to amuse himself, to do something in the terrifying eyes of the projections.

Ariadne opens her eyes, feeling the urge to curl up and cry. Scolding herself, Ariadne stands up, heading to her room. Fluffing a pillow, she sits on her bed, pulling a book to her, knowing that reading will get things of her mind.

But it doesn't.

Ariadne keeps on looking out her window, wondering where Arthur could be. She entertained the thought of him and the perfect young lady but soon shakes it away from her thoughts, throat constricting when imagining Arthur holding hands with the glamour girl.

Is he sleeping, in a refined hotel room, the best that money can buy?

Is he shooting projections, wandering in a world created by someone else?

Is he researching some unknown mark, frowning ever –so-slightly like he always does when he works?

Ariadne ponders it all, blushing in the dim light of her room when she realizes she's been thinking for over ten minutes. How could one person capture her mind like that?

Ariadne was pretty, there was no doubt about that. With her chocolate curls and hazel eyes, slim figure, and delicate hands, Ariadne never had had a shortage of admirers. But even so, none who had the courage to talk to the shy, quiet student had captured her imagination like this. This was different.

She leans back into the pillows, giving up on her book. He is too distracting for comfort. The young Architect closes her eyes, staring into a certain pair of brown eyes being the last thought she thinks before she nods off, sleep claiming her.

**A/N: This is my first ever fanfic, so I wasn't quite sure if this meets expectations. I dearly hope it does. Anyway, from all the fanfics I've ever read, the author always asks for reviews. Alas, I'm headed into the same direction…. Review please? It's be very much appreciated.**


	2. Raw

**First of all, I'll be attempting to update this weekly, but I'm almost positive I won't be able to always do this. Second, a BIG thanks to Legal-Assassin-006, origamifoxes, and storycrazy22 for their reviews. I was jumping for joy when I checked my e-mails. Third, another thanks to AznBatSheep, Guard2012, and musicchica10 for the story alerts! Cookies for all! Fourth, I noticed I forgot to add the disclaimer for the previous chapter. So here it is:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inception. Wish I did, but no.**

**Now on with the story.**

Ariadne let herself into her apartment, cheeks flushed, skin burning. Dropping her messenger bag to the ground, she rubbed her temple worriedly, frowning slightly.

"_What's going on with me?" _wondered Ariadne, sighing softly.

It had all started during Professor Miles' lecture; she had been jotting down notes, attention fully focused on him. Glancing about nonchalantly, she suddenly spotted outside the small auditorium a tall, lanky man, clad in an immaculate vest and tie, dress pants ironed to perfection. She had stiffened, a bright sprinkle of rose claiming her cheeks, hands sweating ever-so-slightly.

Arthur. Arthur. _Arthur._

His face had clouded her mind, his piercing brown eyes, the way they shone, the way they could become so reserved in little time. His fresh smell, the smell of mint with the slightest hint of cologne, a smell that intoxicated Ariadne, making her wish she could bottle it up, claiming it for herself.

Pulse racing, Ariadne had looked up again at the figure, hungrily taking in the figure, the broad shoulders, the brown eyes, the windswept hair.

Wait. Windswept hair?

Ariadne blinked and widened her eyes, immediately ducking her head. Arthur didn't have windswept hair. His was perfect, gelled back, smooth.

It wasn't Arthur.

It wasn't Arthur.

Was she going mad? She had just confused a random man for Arthur. Arthur!

Ariadne had bitten her lip, feeling strangely uncomfortable, almost as if she had betrayed a close friend.

She was in a fit of nervousness throughout the entire lecture, picking at her cuticles until they were raw; her feeling soon deepening when Professor Miles called for her to stay behind.

Head bent, Ariadne made her way to his desk, where a weary looking Miles ran his hand through his hair.

"Ariadne?" he softly asked, looking up at her with a concerned look.

Ariadne nodded, eyes finally meeting with his.

"Are you… alright?" asked Miles carefully, eyes searching her face. "You seemed a bit… distracted today."

Ariadne blushed deeply, murmuring, "Yes, I'm fine."

Fixing her with a worried gaze, he said, "Ariadne. Please. What's wrong? You've seemed perfectly fine these past five months but suddenly you look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine, Professor, honestly." mumbled Ariadne, hoping her face didn't betray her.

"You've forgotten that I know as much of the world as you do, Ariadne. Possibly even more. I've seen many young students act as you have, Ariadne. I would just like to help… has anything occurred? A dream, perhaps?"

Ariadne bit her tongue, knowing exactly what was wrong with her.

Suits.

Arthur.

Just thinking of his name sent tingles down her spine, making her shift the books in her hands uncomfortably.

But it wasn't only him. No, he was just a small sliver of her odd actions. It was the thrill, the excitement of building impossible architecture. It was surreal; a place that she thought could never exist. Not even in her dreams.

But that was exactly where it was. Dreams. The one place that she was positive she could never get tired of.

The want in her chest clenched and churned, feeling more raw and real than ever.

Arthur. It was his entire fault for causing this.

She had been perfectly fine until the previous afternoon when somehow, her thoughts flitted toward him. It brought back all the memories, the memories she had buried deep within herself, the only way to keep up with her desperate desire to keep in control of reality. Not to lose herself to dreams like Mal.

It was an experience that had changed her.

Subtly, not completely noticeable at first, but the changes were there.

She was extremely quiet now, as if that was even possible, with the quietness she had from before. She smiled before; now it was a rare feat that seemed to strain her face and muscles.

No one had noticed.

The petite, reserved Architect went by unnoticed, as did her actions. She had hidden them after all, and she was good at concealing them.

She was fine, actually quite fine, having been able to erase the altering events from her mind. Not completely, but she was able to control it. Which was good enough for her.

Ariadne blinked and softly said, "I'm fine, Professor Miles."

She gave him one of her few smiles, soon scurrying from the room, curls bouncing behind her. Professor Miles stared at her retreating back, not being able to stop himself from getting a soft, sickening feeling.

xxxxxxxxx

Ariadne sank down into her bed, clutching her pillow tightly, moonlight streaming in through her window, illuminating her face.

"_Forget about it. This is your world. Not theirs. You're a student. They're criminals." _thought Ariadne, eyes closed, eyelashes tangled up.

Ariadne tried to fall asleep, alas, it was all in vain. Sitting up, she brushed her hair from her face, taking a good look at her small room.

The walls were painted a soft cream color, looking as if it was layered in silk and taffeta; almost none of the paint could be seen, though, due to the large number of papers decorating the walls. Impossible structures rose on their infinite whiteness, the thick, strong, black strokes of a pencil twisting its way through the white.

Her bed, a small weak-looking thing, made of rusted metal was piled high with green and blue pillows, each one varying in design and size. The sheets, starched stiff, claimed the mattress, giving the bed a fresh look. A long bookcase covered a small portion of the wall next to the window, all types of books placed tightly on its clean-cut shelves, giving the room just the right amount of color it needed.

There was a small vanity, a retro-looking one, with bright chrome finishing's, scarves hanging from every nook and cranny. A small stool sat in front of it, its plush green seat cover looking worn and tattered.

"_Yes," _thought Ariadne firmly, "_This is my life. Nothing else."_

She laid back down, soon drifting off in a dreamless sleep.

Ariadne groaned, rubbing her eyes. This was the one moment she ever regretted being at a university; the ungodly hours she had to wake up at taking a toll on her. She sat up, letting her eyes focus slowly, staring out the window.

xxxxxxxxx

Her head buzzed, blood pounding, a migraine threatening to take over. The brightness of the moon and stars were reflected in Ariadne's glassy, chocolate eyes, making them sparkle and jump with shine.

Ariadne suddenly swore, lying down again, head buzzing.

Why on earth had she woken up? It was three in the morning! Not seven, the time when she would be busy despising the fact that she was a student at a university.

The blood continued to pound and buzz, making Ariadne grip the frames of her bed tightly.

"_I am not a morning person," _thought Ariadne furiously, realizing that all this "pounding and buzzing" was her cellphone. Slipping out of her bed she reached for her phone, silently wishing the worst fate possible to the caller who had decided to ruin her sleep.

Thumbing sliding across the screen, Ariadne groggily whispered, "Hello?"

"Hello? Err… Ariadne is that you?"

Ariadne paled, the brown orbs on her face that were called eyes standing out considerably. Body stiffened, phone almost sliding out of her hand, Ariadne whispered hoarsely,

"_Arthur?"_

**A/N: I'm quite disappointed with this chapter; it didn't come out how I wanted it to. Please forgive any spelling and grammatical errors, it's 2:32 am and my head isn't where it should be. I suppose this all very cliché, the calling in the middle of the night, disturbing Ariadne's sleep. My apologies, but I felt that I couldn't write any other scene while giving it the justice it deserves. I'll be leaving now, hopefully back in a week.**


	3. Doorknobs

**Hello! I'm back, earlier than I expected, dishing out the next chapter! I want to give thanks to Legal-Assassin-006, AznBatSheep, and Aly of Ravenclaw, you guys made my day. I also want to thank everyone for the story alerts, all those e-mails piled up have made me incredibly happy. Now, the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the story, Inception, built on foundations of amazingness, unfortunately.**

Ariadne heard a slight cough and then a slightly muffled,

"Yes. Ariadne?"

"Yes," whispered Ariadne faintly, not being able to believe that this perfect man had such excellent timing. Honestly, he was calling right after she went through her hallucinations? No one could have entered the picture at a better time.

"Well, an odd thing happened today. Professor Miles called me, worried about your… emotional state. He's as-…"

"Professor Miles called you?" cut in Ariadne, shock evident in her face.

Arthur's cool, crisp voice continued,

"Yes and he said tha-"

"Professor Miles called you."

Arthur, his voice sounding slightly surprised and a tad worried, surprising Ariadne, said, "Yes."

Ariadne stood silent for a moment, hair in a mess, feet surrounded by paper, each scrawled on in different colors. Her face was expressionless, the tiny apartment as silent as the deserts of Egypt, the air slowly tightening.

"Professor Miles called you." Said Ariadne, in a monotone voice, eyes vacant.

"Yes… Ariadne are you alright?" asked Arthur, his voice sounding concerned.

Suddenly, Ariadne's eyes snapped to life, a blazing rage burning within them.

"No, I am _not _alright! For five months there's been silence, absolute silence! I haven't heard from anybody! Not Eames, not Yusuf, not Cobb, not you! How do you expect me to feel when you just… just… _barge _into my life? No one's called! No one's wanted to know how I've been doing! But the moment that Professor Miles picks up the phones and declares my "emotional state" _unstable, _you go right ahead and call, expecting me to just open up and confess all my troubles!"

"Ari-"

"Don't you _Ari _me, Arthur! You have no right to do this to me! My emotional state is perfectly alright, thank you very much! I do not need someone who isn't even _related _to me to gauge my feelings!"

"Ari…" Arthur's voice was quite unnerving, he seemed to sound a bit shocked and… sad?

"Shut up."

"Ari-"

"I said shut up!" Ariadne practically shrieked into her phone, cheeks splotchy, eyes blazing. "Just shut up!"

She ended the call, whipping her phone across the room, closing her eyes as she heard a number of pens and pencils fall to the floor along with her phone.

Ariadne stood in shocked silence for a moment, eyes staring vacantly at the wall. They began to prickle and a tear slipped down Ariadne's cheek, leaving a shining path behind.

What had she done? She had screamed at Arthur. _Screamed._

She blinked, limply sitting down on her bed, slowly curling up, sleep taking over.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Ariadne returned from her classes, still numb and shocked, wondering about Arthur. She was probably never going to see him again, her attitude had said enough. As she leaned back in the elevator, going up to her apartment, Ariadne twirled a lock of hair, trying to hold back her tears.

She wasn't looking good, hair in a chaotic frizz around her head, eyes red and pink. Dark rings surrounded her eyes, her lip bitten raw from all her nervousness and sadness.

As soon as the elevator reached her floor, Ariadne walked off, hunched over slightly, letting her hair hide her tears.

Suddenly, Ariadne felt a hand lightly grip her shoulder, making her jump and drop the light sketchbook that was clutched in her hands. She whirled around, ready to lash out at this unfamiliar person who dared touch her when her nose quivered.

Mint. Cologne. A fresh smell.

Ariadne's gaze fell to the ground, where an immaculate pair of dress shoes squeaked and shined up to her, paired with elegant royal blue pants, not a single crease ruining the masterpiece.

Her eyes went up, meeting a crisp, white shirt, a light blue tie, adding just the right amount of color to the ensemble, and a perfectly tailored suit jacket.

Ariadne's eyes finally met the hazel ones, who contained the slightest twinge of amusement, cockiness, and concern.

Stumbling back, Ariadne's hand brushed the wallpapered walls, a sharp intake of breath escaping her, face draining of color.

Heart rate increasing rapidly, legs shaking, Ariadne let out a quiet, strangled cry, peeling herself off the wall and scurrying down the hallway to her apartment.

Before touching the knob, however, Ariadne felt a painfully tight hand grip her wrist, turning her gently to face the Point Man. Ariadne stared at her wrist and his connected hand, biting her lip, wondering how something that hurt her could make her feel so good: the feeling of bliss you can only get from waking up from a marvelous dream.

Following her gaze, Arthur locked his eyes on their connected arms, immediately letting go a moment too late.

Ariadne looked up, making Arthur instinctively move forward, sending Ariadne stumbling back, pressed up against her door.

"Ariadne." His voice carried out softly, almost filled with… what was that, warmth?

Ariadne shook her head, clearing her thoughts of Arthur's voice. He would never care about her, so why think about it?

On the other hand, he _was_ standing right before her, in Paris, probably coming from some forsaken city in an obscure country.

She reached behind her for the knob, hand wrapping around it, the coolness calming her slightly.

"Ariadne. I won't hurt you." Arthur's voice sounded so odd, almost as if feelings were wrapped up within it. But this was Arthur. Feelings did not exist with Arthur.

He extended his hand slightly, eyes focused on her face.

Her eyes rested on his hand, a hand that called and sang to her, begging to be intertwined within her own. Biting her lip harshly, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Silence reigned, for several moments, until Arthur could no longer help himself and said, "You're crying."

She open her eyes and raised a hand to her soft cheeks, streaks of tears decorating it.

Arthur flinched internally as he noticed all the imperfections, the dark rings around her eyes, the chapped and bloody lips, the gnawed down nails.

"_Have I caused all this?" _thought Arthur, terror taking over his features, yet still with a calm look on his face. The calm look, though, was slowly deteriorating, a look of concern claiming it.

Ariadne's brushing hand took in the glimmers and shadows, making her creamy skin pop against the dark hair and red jacket.

Arthur stared at it, transfixed, the innocence of its movements and colors making his chest ache.

Her hand finally came to rest at her side, silence still surrounding her. Her eyes were wide, a slight fear clouding them, along with nervousness.

Her hand resting on the doorknob turned, but Arthur reached out and snatched her arms, gently, bringing her closer to him, the intoxicating smell completely enveloping her.

His fingers, ruff yet smooth brushed over her cheeks, making all traces of tears disappear.

Ariadne's brown orbs stared up at Arthur, shock claiming them, making Arthur clear his throat awkwardly and step away from her.

She leaned back into the door, finally stepping in and shutting the door firmly behind her, leaving a still Point Man staring at the door and an Architect with a racing heart inside.

**A/N So. I hope my version of Ariadne doesn't seem too much ooc, but when I wrote this chapter I knew it would be impossible to make a happy Ariadne. I'm sorry, but if the love of my life called me just because somebody else calls them to talk to me, I wouldn't be very happy. So there ya go. I also hope that the meeting with Ariadne and Arthur was satisfactory… there wasn't much dialogue but I promise the next one will have tons. I just wanted to get their feelings and actions out there, so the story would flow more easily. Well, that's all for now, see you in a week (hopefully)!**

**PS I wouldn't mind if you clicked on that lovely review button down there (:**


	4. Nightmares and Silence

Ariadne stared at the door, her finger reaching up to touch her burning skin. Had Arthur actually _brushed _her skin?

Impossible.

This was all her imagination's doing. An excess amount of activity had taken place up in her head and she'd made up this entire scene in her head, to comfort herself in some odd, delusional way. So if she opened the door, Arthur wouldn't be there. In fact, all she would see would be a blank stretch of pale green-colored wall.

Ariadne reached out and opened the door, feeling considerably more relieved.

_Shit._

Arthur, in his immaculate perfectness stood there, face blank, an air of business around him.

"Ariad-"he started, but didn't finish, due to the slamming door.

_Fuck._

Ariadne breathed in deeply, taking a glance at her clock, cringing immediately. Two hours. She'd been mulling right by her door for two hours. With Arthur right outside.

_Holy fucking shit._

Ariadne shook her head and promptly opened the door, a faux-smile on her face.

"Arthur. Come in." said Ariadne, without emotion, sweeping her arm majestically toward her apartment.

Arthur seemed slightly taken aback but promptly hurried in, hovering by Ariadne's side, not wanting to intrude. Ariadne stared down at the floor but nodded at her living room, telling Arthur to continue in.

Arthur sat down at the green couch, confidence soon restoring.

"How have you been?" asked Ariadne, deliberately avoiding the not-so-inconspicuous meltdown from before. She sat down across for him, back straight, face neutral, and hands clasped together on her lap.

"I've been fine, thank you. You?" Arthur said briskly, taking her lead and continuing with the small talk.

"Fabulous," said Ariadne, sarcasm dripping off every letter.

Choosing to ignore this statement, Arthur continued, "I'm afraid I don't have much time," A snort escaped Ariadne at this point, bringing light to the standing outside her door for two hours situation.

Ignoring this as well, Arthur continued, "I have a job offer."

Ariadne's head snapped up, a look of incredulity and a mix of confusion on her face. "A job offer?" she repeated. Arthur nodded and said, "Eames and Yusuf will be working with me and I decided to ask you to join, since I'll be needing the best Architect in the business."

Ariadne stared at Arthur but immediately shook her head, saying harshly, "No."

Arthur looked at Ariadne, a look of curiosity taking over.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Arthur stayed silent for a moment and asked softly, "If you don't mind me asking, why not?"

Ariadne looked down at her intertwined hands and bit her lip, one eyebrow cocking upward.

"I don't think I can deal with this again."

"Deal with what?"

Ariadne looked up, a fierce look on her face. "Never mind."

"Ariadne? Please?"

Ariadne scowled, but continued, reluctantly. "Getting a grip with reality. Leaving the world of dreaming."

Arthur stayed silent for a moment, saying, "Ariadne, I'm not going to force you, but I'd really like you to think about it. Please."

"Arthur-"

"The second time is always easier than the first. It's only the first when your balance is thrown out of normality."

"Arthur-"

"Please."

"Arthur, you just don't understand. I'm sorry, but no."

Arthur didn't say anything but gave the Architect a look, which clearly conveyed everything he wanted to say.

"No! I can't go through it again, the nightmares, the confusion, the jokes! No!" snapped Ariadne, eyes flashing slightly.

Arthur's eye softened and he murmured, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No-" began Ariadne as she glanced into his eyes. She felt the word die on her lips, sucked in by the pools of brown that sparkled and could change shades so fast.

"They never stopped. I saw everyone, yet not actually them. You… they got hurt and I c-c-couldn't… I couldn't do anything, and the buildings were everywhere, I was trapped… and the dead ends… and the blood, so much blood…" confessed Ariadne, voice catching, eyes latched onto the floor.

"Ariadne," said Arthur, in such a soothing voice that she couldn't help but look up.

"What?" she whispered, eyes wide and terrified.

Arthur felt himself stiffen, the urge to grab the petit figure in front of him and kiss the red lips and the brush away any fears difficult to control. He settled for looking into her eyes, where he instantly melted, never being able to have enough of the chocolate orbs.

"Don't worry. I promise, the dreams will go away. They always do."

Ariadne looked away, doubt etched on her face.

"Trust me."

_Trust me. _

Ariadne blinked and found herself thinking, "_Silly you, I've always trusted you."_

Ariadne nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I just don't think I can-"

"Shh, don't worry Ariadne. I can always get someone else. It's perfectly alright." Arthur said, wanting nothing more than to drag his hands on the creamy, porcelain skin that was right in front of him.

Ariadne turned away, silent, thinking.

She wanted to dream more than anything but was petrified of what might follow. The nightmares and the silence. She couldn't go through that silence again, she just couldn't. Not knowing where they were, how they were, who they were with… it was all too unbearable.

But dreaming. The ability to build whatever she wanted, impossible or possible. Nothing needed but her mind and some paper and pencil. The ability to create paradox, to fold cities within themselves, create mazes impossible to get out of… it was all too much.

"I'll.. I'll… I'll do it."

Arthur looked at Ariadne, a hint of… was that worry? Worry? No, she was imagining it. He was looking at her with an expressionless face, asking, "Are you sure?"

Ariadne hesitated but then said firmly, "Yes."

"Alright, then, I'll call you first thing tomorrow."

Ariadne nodded, suddenly feeling awfully embarrassed. Arthur stood up, then glancing around, a small smirk on his lips.

"I see you've been… practicing."

Ariadne blushed, finally taking in the messiness of her apartment. Impossible structures soared from every piece of paper, curling and seeming to dance, to its own tune.

"Umm… yes. I know I shouldn't have, but-"

"Don't worry, it's actually great that you've been keeping up. Always have your mind in best shape." said Arthur, walking toward some of her drawings tacked up on the wall.

"Impressive," he murmured under his breath, making Ariadne blush with pride. She was used to getting complimented, but a compliment from Arthur meant the world to her. It was as if he lit a candle in her, giving her the urge to draw up even more things, the need to impress him soaring.

"Thank you," said Ariadne modestly. "But those were just some doodles. I have more, in my sketchbook."

"These are doodles?" asked a slightly surprised Arthur, craning his neck around to glance at Ariadne.

She shrugged and nodded, rocking on her feet.

"I can't want to see what you come up with." Said Arthur, true excitement radiating from his eyes.

Ariadne gave a small smile, just the curl of the lips with a mysterious, "We'll see."

Glancing at his watch, the Point Man looked up and said, "A call, tomorrow, alright?"

Ariadne nodded, walking him to the door.

Hesitating, Arthur said, "Ariadne… about earlier…."

"Forget it." Said Ariadne, coldly, the iciness returning. "I was just tired that's all."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something more but was cut off by a "Good-bye, Arthur," and a slam of the door.

Arthur stood outside, eyes unfocused.

"_No." _he told himself firmly, shaking his head. "_She is a co-worker. Nothing else but that."_

**A/N Well there ya go, Chapter 4! So, I'm iffy about this chapter, not sure whether to like it or despise it. I hope I did the characters justice, though…. Anyway, I'm tired and just want to get to sleep, so good-bye 'till next week! Oh, and before I forget, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for the reviews and story alerts. I love you all! **

**PS. Review? Pretty please with gummy bears on top?**


	5. Coffee

Ariadne paced around the tiny apartment, knocking her bishop over, relief spreading across her body when she heard the pleasant thunk. For the tenth time in a row.

"_Get a grip on yourself, Ariadne!" _thought the Architect. "_Ten times is enough. ENOUGH!"_

Ariadne mentally shouted at herself when her fingers reached out to tip the bishop, which rested on the scratched wooden surface of the small coffee table, surrounded by mountains of papers and pencils.

The brunette breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of freshly grind coffee and the now cold cup of strong, black coffee that sat in front of her. She picked it up, tentatively, looking down into it.

"_What would it be like to just jump in? Have the power to jump into this swirling darkness, without a glance back? If you could just grab a cup of any drink and leave everything behind, succumbing to its darkness? It'd be heaven, that's what." _thought Ariadne, shaking the cup lightly, creating ripples in the drink. She stared down at it, eyes focused solely on the center ripple, the one that created all the others.

_A ripple of events._

That phrase that popped into her head comforted her somehow, almost as if it was a pair of arms, enveloping her in a warm embrace.

Suddenly, in the heavy silence that reigned the apartment, a phone ranged. Loud and shrilly, announcing its presence to the entire world. The universe, more like it.

Ariadne jumped to her feet, diving onto the chair before her, hands grasping the phone. She held it in her hand, staring down at it, with its flashing lights, vibrations, and rings. Her finger hovered just above the screen, the brunette knowing very well that the fate of her life rested on this device.

A simple device, one who performed its function perfectly had the control over her life. What a curious thought. This one object, that couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, couldn't think, had all the power. She was under its magnificence, its superiority. She was an inferior, the flashing lights mocking her, the vibrations taunting her.

And all she could do was sit by the sidelines and watch, hoping and waiting.

Ariadne swiped her finger across the scene and after a brief pause, lightly placed the phone at her ear and said,

"Hello?"

"Ariadne?" the voice of the cool and collected Point Man radiated from the phone, suddenly making the device even more powerful than before.

"Yes?" Her voice, Arthur was surprised to note, was calm and almost… normal. As if he was simply asking about the weather, rather than about to offer a job that would probably change her views on the world, if not her personality.

"Well, I don't think I need to elaborate, do I?"

"No."

There was silence, Arthur silently shifting uncomfortably, obviously ill at ease.

"So… well?"

Arthur heard a sharp intake of breath and then a cool response of,

"I'll take it."

Arthur sat in silence, for a moment, then saying, "Alright. Do you think you could possibly head to the warehouse at around eleven?"

Ariadne closed her eyes, knowing fully well how much that tiny, small word meant.

"Yes."

"Eleven then. I'll see you here."

There was a click and the young woman was left breathing into her phone, standing in the cluttered apartment. She slowly dropped her arm, placing the phone carefully onto the chair on which it had previously resided. She leaned against the wall for support, the sheer magnitude of what she was going to do overwhelming her.

"_I'm an idiot." _thought Ariadne, rubbing her forehead. "_I'm freaking out because I said the word yes. Honestly, of all things."_

Ariadne snorted and shook her head, the ghost of a smile etched on her face.

XxxxxxxxxxX

The Architect relaxed against the cool breeze that tickled her face as she walked the Parisian sidewalks, lined by bistros and cafes. She looked at her reflection on a window, taking in her outfit. She had planned it carefully, thinking about every piece of clothing before putting it on.

Normally, Ariadne wasn't the type of girl who obsessed over her clothes and planned each outfit every day, secretly memorizing it, never to be seen with that combo again. No, Ariadne was the type of girl who simply grabbed what she saw, flung it on and left at high speed.

But today was different. She was going to be seeing them all, well, mostly all, today, and she couldn't afford to wear something that could ruin the day. Every article of clothes she wore had some special memory attached to it, one where Ariadne was filled with indescribable happiness. She hoped that the sentiments these articles of clothing radiated would be conveyed into her day as well. Well, she wasn't really hoping. More like praying.

Ariadne was dressed in a pair of simple corduroy pants, a light shade of brown that contrasted greatly with her top, a simple, blue, long sleeved Henley, with a black jacket on top. But what brought about the most attention was her scarf, a red silk one, lined with gold at the edges.

Ariadne fingered the scarf, looking about her in curiosity. She was getting close to the warehouse, the familiar shops flashing before her face. She breathed in deeply, remembering the last times she had walked on this well-worn path; it was so familiar, so comforting, it gave her a peace in her mind.

Ariadne smiled, a full smile, one that brought up the dimples in her cheeks and stretched the deep red lips into a becoming fashion.

_She was going back._

_Back._

_Dreaming. She was going to dream._

Ariadne shivered from excitement, the happiness finally breaking through. How could she keep thinking about the effects this would have on her? She was going to dream again. She was going to create. Build. Imagine. Worrying made no sense; she could do that once she reached that obstacle. She was going back, and nothing could stop her.

The brunette finally slowed down to a stop, looking around. There was no one in sight, and all that stood between her and the wonderful world of dreaming was that oh-so-familiar white door. With its dents and grime and even cracks, Ariadne could not help but reach out and pat it affectionately, a smile adorning her face.

Her hand strayed to the handle, where it curled and uncurled, hesitating to take the plastic knob.

Taking a deep breath, Ariadne grasped it firmly and stepped inside, eyes immediately taking in everything.

It was just like she remembered; the scattered tables, looking curiously sad without piles of work gracing them, the white lawn chairs, rusty but always calling, with the beautiful, defined silver case that contained the PASIV joining them at the white ceramic table placed strategically in the middle of the group.

Two familiar figures lounged on the chairs, a mane of curly, black wild hair peeking out over one chair and a head covered by close-cut, chestnut hair peeking from the other. The two heads rose up simultaneously at the sound of the closing door, eyes meeting the chocolate pools of the Architect.

"Hello, darling," drawled out one head, a smirk gracing the face, hazel eyes sparking with mischief.

"Ariadne! Good to see you!" imputed the other, pleasant surprise and amusement entangling the dark eyes that burst with intelligence and wisdom.

She was back.

**A/N: Hello, hello, hello! Thank you for all the reviews for the previous chapter and the story alerts. I love you all! So I'm a week early and I must say, I had loads of fun writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy it… I definitely did! Well, I decided to write and put this chapter up because I happened to read a wonderful fanfic and was inspired to pull out my own creative juices and put them to work. Anyway, let me say, I hope that you could feel the shifts and changes in Ariadne's feelings here, because I really worked on that. Well it's two in the morning here, so good night and please, please, review. They make my day!**


	6. Gazes

Arthur looked up at the sound of the opening warehouse door, eyebrow raised curiously. The moment his eyes landed on Ariadne, a swooping sensation went through his stomach, leaving him breathless. His face betrayed no emotion, eyes passive and as calm as ever, expression poised and controlled.

How could this girl, this petite woman cause such a reaction in him? The Point Man had worked with other women before but none of them had given him reactions like this; not even close.

Turning away from the door and facing the blank stretch of the ugly, gray wall, Arthur conjured up an image of his Architect.

The chestnut, silky curls that made him want to trace elliptical patterns across the palm of his hand or wrap around his fingers; the lovely, long eyelashes that seemed to tangle themselves up when she closed her eyes, leaving shadows on her cheeks; the majestic eyes that exhibited the bright, keen, creative mind that resided in her head; the creamy, smooth, porcelain skin that made him want to just smell her; and those lips.

Those _lips. _The scarlet lips that had no idea of the power they held over the Point Man. So round, flawless, and absolutely perfect, in Arthur's mind. He wanted to taste them, feel _his_ lips on those precious, sacred lips.

Arthur cringed, finally realizing what he was thinking. He shook his head mentally, a frown gracing his face.

"_No, Arthur. She's off-limits. No messing with her. She __must__ be kept safe."_

XxxxxX

Ariadne beamed at the Eames and Yusuf, feeling as if she was being reunited with her brothers. She walked toward them and the raggedy lawn chairs that dearly needed to be replaced, a bounce to her step.

Eames stood up, smirking, reaching out to embrace the Architect.

"Mademoiselle Ariadne," drawled Eames, "Lovely to see you. Missed me?"

Hugging him tightly, breathing in the shocking smell of strong cologne, Ariadne playfully says,

"Ditto, ditto. Where _have _you been? No calls, no letters? I must say, I've nearly _died _without your ever desirable presence!"

Eames laughs, "Well, Ariadne, as much as I would have adored keeping in touch, I was busy having _cozy _chitchats with some dear, _dear_, old friends of mine."

"All squared up, I hope?" asked Ariadne, looking up, slight worry etched on her face.

"Of course, of course," said the British man, waving his hands dramatically. "We just meant for Sunday afternoon tea and had a bloody good time."

He went back to his lawn chair, sprawling himself over it, smirking as he took in the warehouse, looking like a king surveying his kingdom.

Ariadne laughed and shook her head, curls bouncing away, turning to Yusuf.

"Yusuf, I'm so glad to see you," said Ariadne, hugging the short, round man tightly. She breathed in the smell of spices, along with faint traces of burning fires.

"Good to see you, Ariadne," said the quiet man, patting her hand affectionately. "How are your classes?"

"Very good, thank you. And your family?" quietly asked Ariadne. Yusuf had become almost like a pet to her, the comforting father figure she could go to for wise advice.

"Oh they're simply lovely," said Yusuf, dark eyes lighting up at the mention of his dearly beloved wife and children. "They're back at home, but they're getting along nicely. Thank you for asking."

"The pleasure's all mine," Ariadne said, smiling contentedly, "I _do _love hearing about the girls."

Yusuf smiled at her and sat back down, more graceful than Eames, but casual as well.

Sitting down as well, Ariadne took a look at the two men before, anxiously looking for any signs of injuries that may have resulted from the Fischer job.

Eames is wearing his usual tan, scraggly suit jacket, with the horrid rose-colored, raggedy, button-up shirt underneath. It looks cleaner than usual, leading Ariadne to believe that he's been living in good conditions and not some horrid, run-down place. Leg crossed, he slouches on the lawn chair, coffee-colored pants fitting him nicely, along with the drab, tan shoes he wears. With the first few buttons of his shirt open and his conceited, all-knowing smirk, Eames is the picture of pure cockiness, a look that bodes him well.

Yusuf sits properly on the other chair, hands folded, eyes cast at the distance, probably reminiscing about his family. He wears a worn, leather jacket; the sleeves frayed and slightly tattered. All the pockets on it bulge, probably containing vials of chemicals and other liquids. He wears a wool, red vest underneath, the hem a slightly darker maroon, contrasting greatly with the white shirt underneath.

"Checking us out, dear?" smirks Eames, catching sight of the prying eyes of the Architect.

Ariadne blushes and mutters, "Just making sure you both are alright…" Eames chuckles, obviously amused.

"Where's Arthur?" asks Ariadne suddenly, looking around. She spots him at his desk, back turned, papers clutched in his hand.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd ask about that boring prick," said Eames, nodding at Arthur. "Same boring stick-in-the-mud, I'm afraid." Eames shook his head, as if Arthur was some sort of hopeless medical case that could never be cured.

Turning, Arthur said lightly, "Yes, nice to see you too, Eames."

Eames smirked and drawled out, "Pleasure."

Arthur slowly made his way over to them, Ariadne taking in his appearance; the gray button-up shirt, the black dress pants, and the red tie that added just the right amount of color to make the outfit pop.

"Ariadne," nodded the Arthur at her, his greeting varying highly from her two previous ones.

Suddenly Ariadne feels childish, foolish even, for being so open and friendly with Yusuf and Eames, while here, with Arthur, all she gets is a nod and a grave uttering of her name. She shrinks in her seat, feeling that the large, gray, spacious warehouse's walls are pressing down on her, slowly tightening the noose around her neck.

"Arthur," admonishes Eames, "I'm sure you can give a better greeting than that, darling,"

Arthur fixes a glare upon the Forger, who just cryptically grins back, eyes sparkling with merriment.

Shaking his head, Arthur turns back to the team, handing them each a folder.

"This job is simple," begins Arthur.

"Hear, hear! All jobs are simple after Inception," calls out Eames, the enjoyment from the Point Man's second glare, flashing on his face.

Arthur clears his throat and says, "Thank you for that unknown and most certainly unobvious fact, my dear Mr. Eames." He flashes him a look of annoyance, and then continues.

"It's an extraction, or should I say extractions," continues Arthur, nodding at the folders in their hands, signaling to open them.

"Meet Kate LaBureau, Jack Rendon, Mary-Alice Schiffer, Henry Prindle, and James DiBonchelli, our Marks, owners to Hardyings and Grevich Incorporated."

Ariadne looks up from the glossy pictures on her lap, asking, "Hardyings and Grevich Incorporated? The architectural firm?"

Arthur nods, saying, "Our employer is none other than Charlotte Vergani, head of Jarkasium Incorporated, also known as one of the best architectural firms around. It rivals only Hardyings and Grevich Incorporated, they say."

"Why could two architectural firms ever need to employ extractors?" asks Ariadne, forehead scrunched in confusion.

"Ah, Ariadne you'd be surprised who meddles in the world of Extraction. I once worked for a hair stylist," imputed Eames, employing the voice of someone who has seen far too much.

"A hair stylist?" asks Ariadne, incredulously.

"Yes, and quite the charmer as well," smirked Eames, mischief lighting up in his eyes.

"Alright, Eames, we don't need to hear about any of your _amusing _employers," cut in Arthur, looking up from the board on which he had written the five marks' names.

Eames smirked and raised his eyebrows, Arthur continuing.

"It's actually quite simple. Ms. Vergani has some worries, due to the fact that the new main office building of Jarkasium Incorporated is built by none other than Hardyings and Grevich Incorporated."

Yusuf shifts in his seat, eyebrow cocked.

Ariadne raised her eyebrows, saying, "An architectural firm hires another one to design and build their main office? Honestly, what is with people these days?" Yusuf nods agreeably, obviously thinking along the same lines.

Arthur's lips twitch slightly, one corner rising slightly.

"That's their world." He turns back to the board, writing some more.

The Architect stares at his lips, wondering what it could possibly take to get those lips to simply curve up.

"Anyway, there are rumors circulating that Hardyings and Grevich Incorporated are adding some features to be able to tune into all the meetings held at the new building; that is, listening in to all of Jarkasium's meetings, with the highest executives."

"So this good-looking Ms. Vergani wants us to find out if they're actually planning this and if they are, figure out what they want to do?" cuts in Eames, eyebrow cocked.

Shooting him a particularly annoyed look, Arthur nods a yes.

"Perfect. Three good-looking women to play with. Well boys, madame, I'll be on my way." Eames slides off from his lawn chair and makes his way to the door, disappearing with a bang.

Yusuf looks at the door curiously, shrugs, turns back around, stands up and walks to his desk, already beginning to fiddle with his instruments.

Ariadne stares at the door with slightly parted lips, slowly turning back to Arthur.

"Umm….?" she says softly, eyes fixed on Arthur. Sighing, he says, "Ignore him,"

Ariadne nods and bends down over her file, looking through, wondering how in the world she's going to come up with different dreams for _five _different people.

"Ariadne, by the way, do you think you'll be able to do this?" asks Arthur, fixing her with a stare. "It isn't too late to get another architect."

The Architect straightens, brushes her hair out of her eyes and says, "Of course. I can do this; I'm positive."

_Or I'll be damned if I don't._

**A/N: So. I liked this chapter except for my voicing of Eames. I love him, I really do, but it's so hard for me to write for him. I think his parts sounded extraordinarily fake but whatever. It's 1:14 am, I'm tired, hungry, and sleepy. Reviews? I'd be ever so nice. Thanks for reading**


	7. Information

**DISCLAIMER: INCEPTION DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. **

Ariadne looks through the folder, the fresh smell of paper permeating her nose. She's slightly overwhelmed by the wealth of information; she knew that Arthur was quick and efficient, but she had no clue he was _this _fast. The folder weighs down on her lap, almost as if she had a small dog on it.

Taking a good look at a picture of Henry Prindle at a bar, she runs her finger over the glossy image, mind elsewhere.

"_What must it feel like?" _Ariadne wonders, "_Finding out about other people. Their darkest secrets, their deepest fears, their triumphs and losses. Never meeting them, never talking to them. Like a best friend that you know you'll never see again. How must it feel to know all these quirks about one person? They don't even know __you __know it. They have no idea that they're being watched, that someone out there knows __what __they do at a certain point. __Why __they tremble in fear before another thing."_

Ariadne glances up at the Point Man who has returned to his desk, already tapping away at his computer. A pen rests in his hand, writing every so often on the pad on the waxed desk.

Glancing up at the skylights of the warehouse, the brunette bites her lip and closes her eyes, feeling the sun graze her skin. Opening her eyes one again, Ariadne immediately takes in all the features of the roof; the skylights framed with black, in the shape of rhombuses, the gray, rusty pipes intertwining and crossing between the rhombuses, the fading cream of the rest of the ceiling, peeling to reveal the mottled brown underneath.

Eyebrows furrowing, Ariadne breathes, "That's it."

"_He's just like me. Instead of taking in all the information on a person, I take it in of a building. I know why they build things in a certain way, why the features are located where they are."_

Going through the folder once again, Ariadne glimpses at the information, phrases such as, "_broke her left arm when she was three," _and "_loves it when it rains," _jumping out at her.

"_What does Arthur remember? Does he remember everything? Does he keep all this information inside his head? How about himself? Does all this information, all these people in his head affect him? Does he take things from one person and other traits from another?"_

Ariadne looks up, toward the Point Man, who is concentrated on his laptop, chair tilted back slightly. Biting her lip, the brunette hesitantly gets up from the creaky lawn chair, crossing over to Arthur's desk.

Taking in his desk, Ariadne notes the organized pencils, pens, and highlighters, everything ordered by color. There aren't any scuff marks on his desk, no dents, and no engravings, just the polished wood, gleaming and reflecting. The Architect thinks back to her own desk, covered in scratches and dents, feeling embarrassed just by standing next to this perfect, almost-new desk next to her.

Leaving her thoughts, Ariadne realizes that the Point Man is staring up at her, hands crossed, laptop closed. She knows that he's waiting, waiting for her, but not in an impatient sort of way, but a calm take-your-time way. She knows that he knows that she's lost in her thoughts, and that thought gives her an odd feeling, one that she doesn't understand but actually likes.

Clearing her throat, the faintest shadow of red on her cheeks, Ariadne softly asks, "Which one do I start with?"

"Whoever you want. We have as much time as we want for this job and there still isn't any specific order in which we're going to extract." Arthur says, fixing her with those brown eyes. His vest is immaculate, a dark blue, striped. He leans back into his chair, his black pants creased in all the right places.

Ariadne nods and glances down at the file, saying, "Alright." She closes her mouth and pulls the file closer into her chest, walking away.

Sinking into the familiar patched-up chair at her desk, Ariadne places the file on her desk, looking at her workspace for the first time in months.

She's instantly taken back to all the moments she spent at this desk during the Fischer job; making her totem, talking to Cobb, designing the levels.

Her hand reaches out to brush over all the materials, the soft feel of the creamy paper, the harsh and jagged lines of her scalpels and knives, the sharp tips of her pencils. Ariadne closes her hand and opens it, her fingers itching to start creating.

Smiling, she reaches for the folder and selects a packet at random, pulling out the one on Jack Rendon. Leaning back into her chair, Ariadne begins to read, finger following the words.

After finishing, the brunette leans back into her chair, gazing out into the distance, thinking.

She doesn't like Jack Rendon, unlike Robert Fischer, he is the pinnacle of the businessman world. Always having been surrounded with money, Mr. Jack Rendon seems to live for pursuing the finer things of life: gambling, women, and drinking.

Jack Rendon, tall and wiry thin, holds himself with the air that others of his type always do; the air of superiority and cockiness. He seems just like the type of person Eames would get along all fine and dandy with, just with an extra dose of ignorance. Brown hair, piercing green eyes, and sharp features make up his visage, the epitome of your average clever businessman.

Known in the business world for his cheeky and snarky remarks, Mr. Rendon is no one to mess with. He knows the game and cheats his way through, never getting caught, always followed with his "wonderful" reputation. As bad as he is, Mr. Rendon is good at what he does, motivated by passion. An avid architect, Mr. Rendon not only can design, but can manage the money just as well. A double-edged knife, aided with his undeniable charismatic personality, reeling in even the best of stoic, expressionless women.

Ariadne glances at the pictures Arthur provided, her lips pursed in concentration. Flipping through the pages, she jots down notes at the top of her sketchpad, pencil scratching against paper.

"_A bar or casino. Or even a restaurant."_

The Architect leans back, thinking.

"_The first level will probably be a casino, introducing the idea of designing the building,"_ thinks Ariadne, tapping her black pen against the pristine white of her teeth. "_He should be comfortable there,"_

"_The second can be a bar or restaurant, getting him into more serious surroundings… that'll probably initiate the ideas of any spying from this new building," _Ariadne jots down some more notes on her sketchpad, hair cascading down from her shoulders onto the desk.

"_Probably dark and quiet. Something wood-sy, with an air of mysteriousness to it. Make him think that he's in a secluded place where no one will hear anything. Maybe some pool tables, just to add something from his comfort zone. And smoking. Everyone should be smoking, leaving that sharp, strong smell."_

Ariadne smile to herself, pleased to have everything planned out.

"_I'll go adding things as I go along… like some small chandeliers. Made out of blown glass. Red and dark orange should work just fine for that. Red fabric, probably. But dark red. Make him feel like he's in a wooden box."_

The young woman rolled her chair up to her desk, fingers grabbing a pencil and a ruler. The pencil touched the paper, leaving a soft, blurry mark, until it was laid down again on the desk.

Standing up, Ariadne made her way back to Arthur, coughing to announce her presence. Arthur looked up, warm eyes instantly meeting Ariadne's, making her melt inside.

"I've decided to start with Jack Rendon and thought that perhaps a casino and a bar or restaurant could work."

Reaching for his file, Arthur glanced over them, blue tie swaying slightly. Nodding, he said, "Yes, that's an excellent idea. He'll never realize he's dreaming. Perfect."

Ariadne bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling like a loon, just because Arthur had complimented her.

"So it's fine?"

"More than fine." Said Arthur, the ends of his lips rising slightly.

Ariadne looked at them quickly, realizing how much she wanted to see him _smile _for once, not some bare raise of his lips that he always did. Did he even smile? Ariadne quickly shook the thought away, knowing that Arthur _was _human, so something _had _to make him smile.

Nodding, Ariadne turned away, heading back to her tarnished desk. Picking up the pencil, Ariadne soon put it down again.

"_I've never been to a casino. Damn."_

Looking up, Ariadne glanced between Yusuf and Arthur, lips in a frown.

"Eames," she breathed, "I need Eames."

She crossed her arms and sighed deeply, wondering where the Forger had gotten off to. She curled up more comfortably in her chair, knowing that a long wait was in store.

XxxxX

An hour later, in which Ariadne had accomplished reading the file on Jack Rendon three times, Eames sauntered in, hands stuffed in his pockets, his pale green shirt standing out in the bleak warehouse.

"Eames!" called Ariadne, grateful that she would be spared from reading the file a fourth time.

Eames threw a wink at Arthur as he passed by, an odd expression on his face, smirk gracing his lips.

"Yes, love?"

Ariadne cast her hands out and said, "I need your help."

"With what, may I ask, Little Architect?"

"Don't call me that," snapped Ariadne, cheeks red. "And I've never been into a casino. And I need to design one."

"Ah, so the wonderful life has finally lured you in." smirked Eames, raising his eyebrows. "But I must say, _some _people don't approve of that entertainment, so I suggest only a small taste of it should be handed to you."

"What are you talking about?" asked Ariadne, slightly frustrated.

"So many things, darling, so many things."

Shaking her head, Ariadne asked, "So will you be able to help?"

"Why of course, we'll set off right now. Although _some _people wouldn't approve of me being your little camp leader…"

"Set off? And _why_ do you keep going on about "some people"?" asked Ariadne, annoyance creeping onto her face.

"If you want to design a casino, you have to actually know how it feels like, get the full experience, Little Architect." Eames rolled out smoothly, completely avoiding the second question.

"_Stop _calling me that. And alright then. But you avoided my other question,"

"You do speak French, right?" asked Eames, completely throwing the brunette off.

"Of course I do," she said, slightly affronted.

"Good girl, everything I know how to say will get us murdered or jailed."

Ariadne stared at Forger, eyes wider than usual.

"Come along then, little one," continued Eames, without missing a beat.

He strode off toward Arthur, suit jacket flapping behind him.

"Arthur, my love, I'm taking Ariadne out to a casino, alright? Be a sweet child and have some food here when we get back, ey?"

"Absolutely not."

"Pardon?"

"You will not be taking Ariadne anywhere," said the Point Man, looking up at Eames with a controlled look.

"And why not?" asked Eames, looking ever-so-slightly injured.

"She'll never see the light of the day again," rolled out Arthur.

"You aren't the only one who cares for the Little Architect, Arthur," said Eames, scathingly, "You may not consider me a gentleman, but I will take care of Ariadne and not just toss her away."

Arthur fixed him with a leveled look, Eames glaring back. They seemed to have a conversation all on their own, until Ariadne cut in, slightly miffed, "I'm a big girl, Arthur. I can take care of myself, I don't need one of you trailing behind me."

Turning to the Architect, Arthur said quietly, "Ariadne… there are dangers that come with this job, dangers that I only trust Eames, Yusuf, and myself to handle for you. I'm not saying you can't, you just aren't prepared. You have no idea."

"Little one, I cannot believe I'm saying this and I am sure I'll regret this one day, but I have to agree with our dear old stick-in-the-mud."

Looking up between the two faces, Ariadne raised an eyebrow, obviously not pleased. "I don't want you three protecting me or doing all those other notions that relate to it. I may be a woman, but I'd prefer not being babied and coddled."

"Yes, yes, alright little one. But let's go, I'm not growing any younger here." Drawled the Forger, walking toward the warehouse entrance. "Come along," he added, before sauntering out the door.

Ariadne snorted, shaking her head with disbelief.

"Ariadne… we're not trying to cage you or anything else like that. We just want to keep you safe." Came Arthur's smooth voice.

Meeting his gaze, Ariadne looked at him evenly, both eyes meeting. She nodded, once, understanding and walked away, disappearing out the warehouse door.

**A/N: Hello again! I'm very happy to say that this is officially my longest chapter, about 400 words more than usual. Anyway, I don't know if it's me being paranoid, but I only got one review for my last chapter, which made me freak out, thinking that it was bad. Was it? If you guys ever have any problems with a chapter, review me please and say why, so I can improve and not make the same mistakes twice. I actually like this chapter, it had no fluff, but I really wanted to write about one of the five architects, so yeah, there it is. Thanks for reading and have a great week :D**

**PS Review? Please?**


	8. Fake

Ariadne blinks at the car that stands before her, a light blue convertible. Perching on the edge, Eames glances at her, drawling, "Took you long enough." Unpeeling himself from the car, he slips in, gazing into the side mirror, pushing back his hair and winking at himself.

"Eames, cocky as always." Quipped Ariadne, slipping into the brown leather seat next to him.

"You know it, darling."

He turned the car on, whizzing out the small parking lot behind the warehouse, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

In the midst of the Paris traffic, Ariadne cleared her throat and began, "Not to be rude or anything, but what up with the car?"

"What do you mean by "what up with the car?"" replied Eames, glancing sideways at her. "The color? The seats? The attractive man seating in the driver's seat?"

Ariadne laughed and said, "No, no, I mean… it's a convertible."

"And? Has the French government announced some absurd law that bans convertibles?"

Slapping his arm lightly, Ariadne continued, "No! I mean it's a convertible and it just doesn't seem like the best car to be in when you're part of the illegal world of dream sharing."

"Are you saying you doubt my gun manning skills?"

Rolling her eyes, Ariadne said, "No, I'm doubting your crazed mind!"

"Ariadne," began Eames, with the air of speaking to a four-year old, "just because we're in a convertible and we somehow happen to get shot in, let me see, in plain view of about how many people? Oh yes, about a hundred people, it does not mean I won't be able to shoot anyone's ass if I don't have a useless scrap of metal around my head. Comprendo?"

"Well it doesn't seem like the type of car _Arthur _would approve of, but-"

"Aha! I knew it!" shouted Eames triumphantly, thumping his arm against the steering wheel.

Ariadne jumped, eyes widening, staring at Eames, her suspicions confirmed that he had gone mad.

"What?" she asked blankly, looking around, wondering what had caused him to make such a racket.

Eames winked at Ariadne and said, "Of course, if _Arthur _doesn't approve then it isn't good, right darling?"

Ariadne rolled her eyes once again, scoffing out, "Please. Don't be daft."

Eames cackled out, "Don't worry darling, he feels exactly the same way."

Flushing, Ariadne snapped, "He doesn't, so don't get any ridiculous ideas."

Eames's grin was bigger than the Cheshire's cat as he drawled out, "Whatever you say, whatever you say."

Five minutes later, Eames slyly said, "You know, Ariadne, you two wouldn't be a bad couple. I mean of course, I don't know how anyone could love that boring prick but- 

"Piss off." Cut in Ariadne, resting her arm on the door, letting the breeze play on her face.

"Oh come on. You balance each other out… messy and neat, short and tall, boring and interesting."

"Fuck off."

"Tsk, tsk, Ariadne, Arthur wouldn't like to see his little architect cursing about like a sailor."

Ariadne decided to retreat from the conversation with dignity, remaining silent. In truth though, she couldn't help but listen in slightly to what Eames was saying.

Could they possibly be…? No, impossible. Ariadne turned her away from Eames, facing the sun.

Ariadne could admit it, she was attracted to Arthur. But the Arthur she knew was just… Arthur. Nothing else. Just the calm, stoic Point Man. She knew nothing about him… yet she savored those precious moments when he leaned over her work, lips turned up slightly, compliments gracing his mouth every blue moon.

Jolted out of her thoughts, the Architect looked up to find herself in front of the ugliest building she had ever seen, painted a dull brown that reminded her of the Western movies she used to watch with her father… dead and completely lifeless.

"Where _are _we?" asked Ariadne, aghast, "It doesn't even look like if we're in France!"

"This is _the _best casino in town, Little One. The Chateaux of Soledad!" said Eames, with flourish.

"It looks like a place where you'll find dead bodies piled up high." Flatly said Ariadne, wrinkling her nose slightly.

"Ah, but that's the trick! The worst a casino looks from the outside, the better it is inside. We can't have nosy people poking their noses into the slot machines, can we? People tend to avoid places like these."

"Of course. People with brains, no doubt."

Rolling his eyes, Eames drawled, "Come along, Little Architect. Stay close."

Stepping inside the building, Ariadne nearly chokes on her very breath. Unlike the outside, this casino is all lights mixed with the fluid bright colors.

"See?" says the Forger without even turning around, knowing that open-mouthed look is on Ariadne's face.

"Yes," breathes Ariadne, awe-struck.

Walking eagerly to a stone column, Ariadne soon crinkles her eyebrows and goes silent. Her eyes take in the black and white checkered floor, overlapped with a carpet that seems to blend all the colors in the rainbow, swirls twirling underneath everyone's feet. Machines and tables are set everywhere, creating an endless maze where fashionably dressed couples parade in, money tossed from their hands.

Biting her lip, Ariadne lets her gaze travel to the walls, some covered in mirrors, others painted in bright hues of red, yellow, and blue. Lights are fixed up above, each one projecting a different color, bathing everyone in eerily odd colors.

Leading the Architect to a large bar situated at a corner, Eames slips onto a stool, cocking an eyebrow at the Architect, who glances around one last time before opening her mouth.

"I don't like it."

Eames laughs, saying, "I figured you'd say that."

Ariadne continues, "It's all so… fake. They're trying to overpower you; make you think it's all great but it's all bad quality. I mean look at the paint, it's peeling and the floors… they're so horrendously dirty!"

Grinning, Eames leans forward and says, "Exactly. I'm not surprised you caught on so quickly, but I'm glad you noted all the details. This all you need to do for the dreamscape. Overwhelm the mark. It's a casino, so you have to. It's the only way this," Eames waves his arm around for emphasis, "will seem natural."

Ariadne nods, taking another look around, mouth quirked in the slightest of frowns. They're soon leaving the casino, the blue convertible whizzing back to the warehouse.

XxxxX

They enter the warehouse, Eames soon slinking off, claiming his share of work is done for the day. Winking at Ariadne cheekily, he waves and disappears out the door.

Settling back into her desk, Ariadne looks up when a shadow crosses her desk.

"How was he?" asks Arthur, leaning against her table, arms crossed.

"Fine, fine. Gave me some tips on how to make everything flow." She knows that isn't what he's asking about, but her stubbornness refuses to tell him about how his speech before she left shook her, making her consider things more deeply.

Arthur nods, gaze fixed upon her face. Meeting his eyes, Ariadne stays like that for ten seconds, looking up into the dark pools of chocolate, Arthur's odd look of calmness reflecting back at her.

Clearing his throat, he walks away, calling back, "If you need anything… just ask."

Staring at his retreating back, Ariadne makes a firm resolution to learn something, anything before she leaves.

XxxxX

It's well into the night, only Arthur and Ariadne in the warehouse, Yusuf long gone after claiming that he would return after all his beakers stopped looking like pillows or beds.

Ariadne has been working on her dreamscape, pleased that she's progressed so much. She looks up from her sketchpad, glancing at Arthur who is dutifully at his laptop, doing whatever he does that always keeps him busy.

To be honest, Ariadne hasn't been _completely _focused on her model, almost the entire time she's been thinking on how exactly to make Arthur's façade crack. She can't come up with a single thing, which she blames on the lack of sleep. She decides to go home and try tomorrow, positive that tea in her favorite mug will sprout ideas.

Collapsing into her chair, Ariadne rubs her eyes, trying to get the stiffness out of her hands.

"Tired?" asks Arthur, eyes still on his laptop screen.

Ariadne turns to stare at the mysterious man that has captured her thoughts wondering how she doesn't know a damn about him, but he always knows about her, always watching yet not showing.

"Yes," she finally admits grudgingly, slightly annoyed.

"You should get going." Continues Arthur. "Shouldn't a student like you be getting at least ten hours of sleep?"

"That's the key word, Arthur, student. Which clearly means you only get three hours of sleep or less."

Finally looking up, Arthur casts a look her way, saying, "I hope you're getting enough sleep."

Ariadne begins to pack her bag, softly saying, "Yes, I suppose so."

It's moments like these that throws Ariadne completely off, moments where the simplest question makes a tiny part of her hope that maybe, just maybe something could happen.

Turning around, Ariadne nearly falls when she walks into Arthur, who is holding out her jacket.

"Sorry, I guess I was too quiet." Says Arthur, face calm.

Ariadne mutely nods and takes the jacket, straining not to smile when her finger brushes over his, eliciting tingles all over her arm.

"Thanks," she finally manages to get out, stepping away, making her way to the door.

"I'll walk you."

Ariadne immediately turns around, shaking her head, vehemently refusing.

"I'm not going to let you out by yourself, Ariadne. It's midnight and definitely not the time for you to be walking alone." Continues Arthur over her protests, slipping on his suit jacket.

He walks out the door, leaving Ariadne behind him, gazing at the broad-shoulders covered by the rich, expensive silk. She soon follows, reaching him, trying to match his pace.

Glancing at her, Arthur slows down, for which Ariadne is genuinely grateful, then shoves his hands in his pockets.

There is a fog about, the golden light from street lamps illuminating the sidewalk in an almost heavenly, romantic way. Ariadne internally cringes, already feeling her flushing cheeks.

They walk in silence, avoiding cyclists and couples who walk hand in hand, the love and affection radiating off them in a quite uncomfortable way.

Ariadne is propelled back into her thoughts about Arthur and how little she knows about him, when tumbling out of its own accord comes out, "Why did you become a Point Man?"

Surprised, Arthur turns to look at Ariadne, raising a curious eyebrow, slight smirk on his face.

"Why do you ask?" he responds, completely avoiding the question.

"I'm just curious… I don't know much about you, you see."

"Right."

Silence reigns for a few more moments, until Arthur says, "I've always loved details… my father, a banker, instilled this habit into me, making me pick up and note all the subtle details in everything. I came to love it and well, out of all the Dream sharing jobs, Point Man, appealed the most."

Ariadne hangs onto every word, taking note of everything. Just as she's about to ask another question, Arthur's voice interrupts, asking, "Why did you major in architecture?"

Ariadne looks up at the tall man beside her; the one who makes dressing in suits seems so undeniably easy and says, "My parents. We were always moving, so I always got to see new places, filled with so many different architectural styles… eventually I just fell in love with it all."

Arthur nods and seems to note everything as well, almost as she did.

Ariadne nods silently, head bending to gaze at her feet once again.

"What's your favorite color?"

Arthur turns to Ariadne, a laughing expression on his face. "What's my favorite color?" he repeats.

"I find it to help me figure out how people are, thank you very much!" Ariadne says, crossing her arms, trying not to smile. Everything he does is so contagious, but she feels that she must keep a scrap of dignity and not just fall for everything he does.

"Green. You know that dark green of pine trees? When you're buying Christmas trees and you see all the pines grouped together, looking like one massive blob of green? That's the one that I love. What's yours?"

Without hesitating, Ariadne says, "Orange. Not that many people like it, but it's just so bright and fun, that I just can't help loving it. It makes everything so much more happier, as well."

Arthur nods, listening carefully.

Ariadne pauses before an old apartment building, a quaint looking building that has homeliness to it.

"Well, this is my stop."

Arthur nods and says, "Good night, Ariadne."

"Good night," returns Ariadne, quietly.

She hurries into the building disappearing at the door.

Arthur stands out before the building, waiting until a certain light came on in an apartment. He then walked away, a small grin etched on his face.

**A/N: So. I've been gone for more than a month and can't say enough apologies. I'll just briefly explain what happened: I got sick. Majorly sick. Some weird stomach virus went around, knocking me flat out. Anyway, I'm back! With a long chapter! I'm not sure how I feel about this one, though… it**_** is**_** 3 in the morning. Well, I hope you like it and thank you so much for the reviews. They've meant so much to me! Have a good week, hopefully I'll post again on Friday!**

**PS: How about clicking that lovely button down there?**


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